


Seasoned Smiles

by Amertsi



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: Bonding, Cooking Lessons, Enemies to begrudging friends, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amertsi/pseuds/Amertsi
Summary: “I... I need you to teach me how to cook.”Valerio blinked. “...What?”“I said--” Picaro raised his voice somewhat, finally meeting Valerio’s gaze. “I need you to teach me how to cook.”A story that might have been told, if Picaro had been added as an adventurer.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	Seasoned Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> I was and still am so disappointed about Picaro not being added to the roster that I've gone and written what I think his adventurer stories would have been, if he'd been added. He's a ridiculous character and I accidentally have grown super attached to him through this. I hope my propaganda works and he gains some more fans.

It was just past noon, and Primula Julian was bustling with traffic, the sound of cheerful chatter and forks clinking against plates echoing in the air. Truly, it was a beautiful thing. The smiles on his customers’ faces was enough to bring a sense of pride to Valerio’s chest, knowing that he played a part in their happiness. He would always be humbled by crowds like these. Of all the restaurants, they chose to come to his, seeking a delicious meal served with impeccable customer service. Days like these, he thought, simply couldn’t get any better.

But, as it turned out, they could get  _ worse _ .

Just as the lunch rush was beginning to dwindle, the shrill sound of an unfortunately familiar voice could be heard from the front of the restaurant.

“I DEMAND to speak with Chef Valerio!”

Valerio took in a slow breath. Maybe whoever it was that felt the need to speak with him was just some sound-a-like and not actually who he thought it was. A complaining customer would be easier to deal with than  _ him _ .

“What?! YES I know him! We’re RIVALS. Now where is he?!”

Well, that hope was dashed.

As much as Valerio wished to spare himself the headache, it would be faster to just deal with this unwelcome visitor rather than ignore him. So, with a heavy sigh, Valerio made his way to the front of the restaurant.

Standing there, as expected, was his self proclaimed rival. Picaro was still speaking adamantly with the poor host, who looked at a complete loss. Nothing out of the ordinary. What was odd, though, was the sight of a young boy clinging to Picaro’s leg. He had mentioned having a son before, but the last few times he’d seen the other chef, the boy hadn’t been brought along. Perhaps there was some reason?

For now though, the most pressing matter was dealing with Picaro. Valerio put a hand upon the host’s shoulder, offering a nod to signal he was free to leave. The exhausted, now relieved, host scurried off, just as Picaro realized who was here.

“There you are! How dare you keep me, Picaro, waiting?!”

“I have a restaurant to run. Now, why are you here?”

Picaro huffed at the bluntness of Valerio’s voice, crossing his arms over his chest indignantly. “Why you--! A visit from the great Picaro is something you ought to be grateful for! For all you know, I’m here out of the goodness of my heart!”

“Except that clearly isn’t the case.” Valerio held in a sigh. He could already feel his headache coming on. “I’ll ask again; why are you here? And who’s this you’ve brought with you?”

At the mere acknowledgement of the boy, Picaro seemed to transform into an entirely different person. He gently placed a hand at the back of the boy’s head, ushering him out from his hiding place behind his legs. “Ah! I see you’ve noticed my son! His name is Enzo. Enzo, pumpkin, say hello to Mister Valerio.”

The boy, Enzo, was a small child. Valerio thought he couldn’t be older than three years of age. He shared the same rust colored hair as his father, but his was a bit curlier. Really, they looked rather alike. Valerio couldn’t help but smile a bit at the boy. Even if this was Picaro’s son, he couldn’t help his soft spot for children. “Good day, Enzo,” he greeted. “Welcome to Primula Julian.”

Enzo, looking a bit shy, gave a small wave and a smile in return, but said nothing.

“He’s somewhat shy at first, but once he opens up to you, he’s full of energy,” Picaro sighed fondly, though there was a tired element to his voice. It was almost odd, hearing him sound like such a typical father when Valerio was used to a louder, more insufferable Picaro. 

“He can take his time.” Valerio paused, looking away from the boy and back to his father. “...Is there a reason you’ve brought him along today? You’ve never done so before. Doesn’t his mother usually look after him?”

For a second time in just a few minutes, Picaro’s expression changed entirely, this time to some strange mix of hurt and anger. Even Enzo looked up at his father with a slight look of worry upon his face. “...Well-- that’s... she...” Picaro muttered.

_...Ilia, grant me patience. _

“...I sense this is going to require further discussion.” Valerio gestured for Picaro to follow him. “The lunch rush has passed, so I have time to spare. But I don’t want you disturbing my guests, so we’ll speak in my office.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean--?!”

Ignoring his outburst, Valerio headed to his office, only glancing back once to make certain Picaro was following. Once inside, he sat behind his desk, nodding to another chair in the room. Grumbling something beneath his breath, Picaro sat across from him, scooping Enzo up into his lap. For a moment, they were silent, Valerio staring down Picaro, and Picaro refusing to make eye contact at all.

“...So. I’ll ask once more. Why are you here?”

There was another pause, during which Picaro seemed to be grappling with something. When he finally spoke, he still wasn’t looking at Valerio. “I... I need you to teach me how to cook.”

Valerio blinked. “...What?”

“I said--” Picaro raised his voice somewhat, finally meeting Valerio’s gaze. “I need you to teach me how to cook.”

Valerio couldn’t help the frown that turned his lips. “And since when have you cared about actually being a good chef? You’ve never hesitated before to simply let others do the work.”

“Well, yes, but--”

“But what? I can’t imagine you simply decided you wished to finally learn.”

“Don’t interrupt me--!” Picaro let out a frustrated groan, struggling to continue speaking for a moment, his expression set in a glare. “I... have to learn to cook,” he eventually grumbled. “I’m out of options.”

“Out of options?”

“I _ said _ don’t interrupt. Ugh, you’re insufferable...”

Valerio narrowed his eyes. “And you’re wasting my time. Out with it before I have you leave now.”

Another glare was shot his way, followed by another pause, during which Picaro almost seemed defeated. “I... had to close L’Amandier.” He must have seen the shocked look on Valerio’s face, because he quickly sat up a bit taller and continued. “Temporarily! Just temporarily. I didn’t want to close at all, believe me, but... all my chefs have left. And I can’t very well run the restaurant on my own.”

“And why exactly did all of your chefs quit? Though I can certainly make a few guesses.” If looks could kill, Valerio would be dead seven times over already.

“...If you  _ must _ know, my wife and I have had... many disagreements, since the Orichalum Chef. She discovered the things I’d done and did not agree with my methods. My life has been a downhill spiral since. First this, then the Seven Leaves incident... We continued to disagree, the restaurant continued to do poorly, and finally... she left.” Picaro sighed heavily. “She was my sous chef, and brought light to our dim kitchen. With her gone, the rest followed, one by one.”

“...I see.” Valerio crossed his legs under his desk, folding his hands on his desk. “So, if I am understanding this correctly... Essentially, due to your, quite frankly, terrible life choices, your wife and staff have left you, forcing you to close your restaurant and come seeking my help.”

Picaro nodded. “...Essentially, yes.”

“And you wish to have me teach you to cook, so that you might be able to open again, since everyone who could cook has left.”

“...Again, yes. Though ideally, if I become skilled at cooking, I will have no issue hiring and keeping new employees.”

Valerio sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “And why, exactly, should I help you, when this entire mess is your fault? Not to mention all of the times you’ve made my life intentionally harder.”

“You have to help me--!” Picaro spluttered. “I cannot let my restaurant stay closed forever! To do so would be to dishonor my family name and the generations of chefs in my family who have run it! I cannot - nay - I WILL not allow such a dreadful thing to happen!” 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before choosing to act so despicably.”

Picaro made a frustrated noise, looking as if he desperately wanted to snap at Valerio, but somehow, he didn’t, simply opting for a tired glare. “I  _ know _ that,” he huffed. “I know you have no real reason to help me. So, if you don’t want to do it for me, then at least do it for my son.” Enzo, who had been sitting quietly on his father’s lap through their conversation, looking like he was going to fall asleep, blinked awake to glance up at the mention of his name. “L’Amandier was my source of income -- I can’t possibly provide for my family if I am forced to close for good! You wouldn’t be so cruel as to let a child starve, would you?”

“...You’re trying to guilt me into this.” But, as much as Valerio hated to admit it, it was working a little bit. He couldn’t help how his mind wandered back all those years ago, to the child he hadn’t been able to save. He knew Picaro knew of his past; it was much too likely he was only trying to trick him. But that didn’t change the fact that Enzo deserved to eat good food, just like any other child, regardless of who his father was. With a heavy sigh, Valerio gave Picaro a no nonsense look. “...Fine. I’ll teach you to cook. But don’t make me regret my decision.”

The look on Picaro’s face managed to be both elated and smug, and it was absolutely irritating. “Oh, you won’t! Your only regret will be making me such a great chef that I’ll finally take you down, once and for all!”

“Hm. We shall see.” Valerio sighed once more; he had a feeling he’d be sighing a lot in the coming days. “We’ll start tomorrow. You’ll come during the hours we are closed between lunch and dinner. Bring Enzo if you must, but if you are late, I’ll have you cleaning dishes instead.”

“Hey--! You can’t--”

“ _ Are we clear? _ ”

Picaro gulped and nodded. “...Crystal.”

“Good. Then, if we’re done here, I’m rather busy.”

Though Picaro seemed irked by being rushed out, he did so regardless, taking Enzo by the hand and leaving Valerio’s office without so much as a goodbye or a thank you. Enzo, though, with the smallest of smiles, offered Valerio a wave goodbye, and Valerio couldn’t help but smile and wave back. As much as Valerio disliked Picaro, there was no reason to dislike his son. He could only hope that Picaro truly wished to reopen L’Amandier for his sake, and not for the sake of his own selfish desires. After all, the best dishes were made with the intent of putting smiles on the faces of those you love.


End file.
